sunning her five-foot stripes,

coiling the low juniper bed,

head erect and alert for toads

and hawkmoths back

from southern hatch.

Alarmed in damp surprise,

Primeval fear, then sinking,

Why hadn’t I seen her?

I dropped the sharp pruner.

Instantly, her name like a medieval chant

Had I cut her, clamping down sharp blades

so surely on dusty under branches?

We had waited to find each other

this long winter,

now, here, we

in suburban-country interface,

mama cows and their little ones

freed into the steamy pasture,

wandering the fenceline,

peaceful witnesses of wonder.